


Soul Truth

by AnselaJonla



Series: Prompt fills [51]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Euthanasia, Gen, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Reddit Prompt, Suicide, r/writingprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24965893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnselaJonla/pseuds/AnselaJonla
Summary: A fic written for a prompt on the r/WritingPrompts subreddit:[WP] Necromancers rip souls from bodies to bind bodies to their will. You are a soul catcher. You hunt down lost souls and reunite them with their bodies to help them rest. Your latest soul doesn't want to go back to its body.
Series: Prompt fills [51]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1097823
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Soul Truth

It was, on paper, a simple job: pinpoint the rogue's lair, point the Hunters in the right direction, wait at a safe distance until the fireworks stop, and then go in to clean up the spiritual mess. And, for the most part that's what it was. You could even say it was textbook. The Necromancer didn't have time to amass a large number of victims, our detection systems are just _that_ good these days, and so I only had a few souls to reunite with their bodies, fresh enough that their bodies had yet to be buried. Three of them, to be precise.

The first two were easy. Their bodies were together, both victims of the same crash, an eighteen year old new driver and his girlfriend who decided to argue with an Eddie. It was harder to ignore their lovey dovey behaviour than it was to get them back in the right place. Seriously people, I _can_ see you. Keep your clothes on and hands on the outside, at least until you get to the Other Side.

The third... well, he wasn't so easy. He was docile enough at first, following in a daze as I followed the spiritual connection between soul and body to reunite the first pair. I wasn't worried by his distractedness: those that die of chemical means are often impaired in spiritual form, at least at first. But when he saw the couple return to their bodies, that snapped him back into clarity.

And he did _not_ like it.

He ran. Turned on his heels and bolted, straight through the morgue doors. And I do mean through. Spirits aren't obstructed by such mundane concerns as doors and walls, not like us mortals. Oh, you can _make_ walls and doors that a spirit can't pass through, but your average NHS hospital doesn't have the budget for such Workings.

Luckily I'd followed procedure and attached a little sliver of my magic to all three of them, a tracking device as it were. You would not believe how often that is necessary. Let's just say that I've seen the inside of more gym and swimming pool locker rooms, of both genders, than I ever wanted to.

I follow at a more sedate pace. A spell cloaks me from the eyes of the hospital staff, and another hides me from the cameras, but they rely on me behaving in a somewhat normal manner. Pelting down the corridors like the hounds of hell are after me (which is _exactly_ as fun as it sounds) will break the illusion and leave me exposed.

I'd rather spend time with the hell hounds than deal with that bureaucratic nightmare.

Interestingly, he hasn't gone far. I follow the little beacon of my magic up through the hospital. I tailgate staff through locked doors, and backtrack more times than I would really like to admit, but eventually I know I'm close. Just one more locked door lies between us, "Intensive Care Unit" blazed across the doors.

A goodbye? Well, that's better than dealing with perverts or horny teenagers. See, I don't know how the spirits I corral died until I find their bodies, or they tell me. And this one hasn't said a word to me. So there being another person involved in this lad's death, hovering on the Boundary themselves, isn't out of the question.

The double beep of the lock gives me just enough warning to step back before a nurse exits the ward, and I slip through the door before it closes. I follow the beacon along the corridor, ignoring the siren call of the Almosts to either side.

Or not... oh _shit_.

That Necromancer didn't grab three _dead_ souls, he grabbed two Deceased and an Almost. A fucking _Almost_. This is just a wonderful steaming pile of paperwork in the offing. I step into the room, my eyes immediately drawn to the slight glow of the only untrammelled soul inside, the faint line connecting the spiritual form to the physical.

Still cloaked from mundane sight, I begin to work quickly. The spell to cloud memories, to keep a stray Almost from fully remembering their out-of-body experience, works best if it's cast while they're still, well, out of their body. It's always a race against time to complete the casting before they figure out how to return on their own.

I pause, my fingers mid-gesture and the words of the chant dying on my tongue. The Almost isn't even _trying_ to return to his body. He is, instead, raging at the equipment, and those gathered around the bed. His fists pass through the mundane objects, and his attempts at unplugging the medical devices come to nothing.

I abandon the spell, and instead flare my magic a bit. It's not a spell, per se, more of the spiritual equivalent of going "oi" and throwing a ball of paper at the Almost's head. He turns to look at me.

"You can't touch anything," I say. "You're a spirit, an Almost Deceased, not a poltergeist."

"You do it then. Or make _them_ do it," the Almost snaps back. Stepping closer I can see tears on his face. "I don't _want_ to live. Not in that body. Not with that face."

I blink, and look at the body laying on the bed. A proper look, not the cursory glance I'd given it before.

This spirit, this most definitely _male_ Almost has a female body. A look at the chart at the end of the bed confirms this.

"I tried and tried and tried so hard, for so long, but I can't do it any more. I can't be the person, the _woman_ they want me to be. I'm not that. I'm not a..." the Almost trails off.

"I know. I won't say I understand, but the soul doesn't lie." It doesn't, it really doesn't. If the Mundanes knew what the Hidden World knows, then maybe this young lad would have had an easier life.

"I can't go back. Please don't make me go back."

I take another look at the chart. Paracetamol, approximately three hundred and twenty tablets. This was no spur of the moment decision made in the throes of emotion. To purchase that many packets, and get the pills out of the blister sheets, speaks to planning and determination. Even if I forcibly return the Almost to his body, he's not guaranteed to survive.

"I'm not, technically, _supposed_ to do this," I grumble as I begin a new chant, a different one. A sliver of magic wraps around the body and sinks in, seeking out the centres of life and snuffing them out. The machines will keep the heart beating and the air exchanging in its lungs, but the body _will_ be dead.

Euthanasia is another bundle of paperwork to fill in. No matter that the Almost's body was completely fucked, to the point where he was going to be a Deceased in full soon enough. I still have to justify it to Above.

And then, while the Almost is distracted, I grab his collar and _shove_ him back into his body. I'm not giving him any chance to give me even more bloody paperwork to do.


End file.
